CHAPTER TEN
Summary: The summer after her fifth year, Hermione is attacked in Diagon Alley. As a result, she learns more about herself than she ever thought possible. Like how her parents aren't really her parents and her biological father is actually the feared Dark Lord. Rated M for a reason.
Disclaimer: I do not own canon characters or events, they belong to J.K Rowling. I am not making a profit from posting this fanfic.
AN:
What? An update? And a massive one, too? I was going to split this into two but decided against it given how long it's been since this was last updated. Anyway, enjoy! There's a few twists in this one.
Oh, and despite this being a Hermione/Draco/Theo pairing, I did throw in a little something-something for you Hermione/Fred/George shippers.
Page count: 32
Weeks had passed since Hermione's return to school and in that time she'd officially become the pariah of Hogwarts.
Slytherins hated her for her believed Muggleborn status, Ravenclaws avoided her because she was top of the year for academics, Hufflepuffs were too afraid to be seen speaking to her for fear of the response from the other houses, and Gryffindors hated her for her transfer to Slytherin house regardless of the fact she'd had no choice in the matter. And it didn't help with Harry, Ron and Ginny filling their housemates' heads with thoughts of Hermione being a traitor that couldn't be trusted.
The only social interaction she received was from Theo Nott and Draco Malfoy. One, her desk mate in almost all of their shared classes and who'd sit with her in the library during their free periods, and the other who'd escort her to breakfast before the castle had woken and who'd find her in the library and remind her that curfew was upon them when she lost track of time.
She'd also noted a change in behaviour for some of her professors and although they still awarded her the marks she deserved, she noted that she was forced to work harder than the other students in her class in order to achieve them. Dumbledore's influence, she assumed. Those completely unaffected were Snape and Slughorn, the latter only having eyes for Harry and his suddenly perfect brewing technique. And it was driving her insane.
As Hermione stepped into the castle after taking a stroll around the Black Lake for a little fresh air before the weather changed and it became too cold to do so, she gripped her wand in her hand and held it down by her side, a counter charm on the tip of her tongue and ready to be cast should it need to be.
Being the new pariah of Hogwarts brought more than avoidance and hissed insults in the corridors. It also brought sneaky hexes and curses being thrown her way when her back was turned. Cowards, the lot of them, Hermione thought. Of course, it was only the Slytherins and Gryffindors that were involved, and as Draco had warned previously, it was only those in her year and above, the lower years being too afraid of her. Hermione knew the Slytherins had been issued warnings by the parents that she was not to be harmed and despite knowing how cowardice most of them were when their parents were involved, (being too afraid of being blasted from the family tree for their disobedience and betrayal) that hadn't stopped them from drawing their wand on her.
The first time it'd happened had been the third day of school and between first and second period, the corridors busy and bustling with students heading to their next class. She hadn't seen who'd been responsible and given the crowd, it made it all the more humiliating.
Being hit with a Tripping Jinx, Hermione had fallen to the ground, barely catching her fall on her hands, skimming her palms and knees on the rough stone flooring and the contents of her bag spilling out. As laughter erupted around her, she hastily gathered her belongings back into her bag and made a hasty retreat to her DADA classroom, ten minutes before anyone else.
Angry at herself for not being prepared and taken off guard when she should've expected it, she'd taken a seat at her desk, conjured a glass and filled it with water before cleaning her bloody knees and palms. It was at that point when Snape unexpectedly stepped out from his office, clearly taken by surprise at her presence. After demanding she tell him what'd happened, he'd berated her for not being prepared before offering a jar of dittany for her to treat her wounds. That was the kindest act he'd ever done for her.
Ever since that day, she was always prepared and despite constantly being on the defence, once or twice they did manage to slip through her defences, especially if there was more than one of them. She never saw their faces, only their robes adorned with red or green as they fled.
Hermione made it a habit to peek around every corner and take the hidden passageways when possible, but as she neared the dungeons, the number of places to hide in the dark grew.
Seeing a figure approach her, she tightened her grip on her wand, squared her shoulders and slowed her steps, breathing a sigh of relief when Snape appeared in the torchlight.
"Professor," she greeted with a tip of her head, ignoring his eyes darting down to her wand knowingly and moving to step around him and continue towards the common room.
"Miss. Granger?" He called. "I must speak with you in my office."
Hermione froze and slowly twisted to face him. His expression was serious, grave, and the first thought that popped into her head was that someone had made a false accusation against her. When defending herself, she only cast Shielding Charms, she never fired anything back in order to avoid this exact scenario.
"I didn't do anything, Professor."
"I don't believe I said you had," was all he said before he walked passed her and continued down the dark corridor, not towards his office in the DADA classroom but his Slytherin house office, the one that contained his sleeping quarters.
Sighing, she followed after him, her eyes darting about in the darkness and refusing to stow her wand. She wouldn't put it past the Slytherins to attempt to hex her even when she was in the presence of a teacher.
When they reached his office and stepped inside, Hermione noted it was quite similar to his other office; dark furniture, neatly and meticulously organised desk and writing instruments and free of any personal items.
"Take a seat, Miss. Granger."
Silently, she crossed to the chair before his desk and sat with her back straight and her hands folded in her lap, still refusing to release her wand. He took the seat opposite her and the moment he did, the carefully blank expression of his face changed. His eyes, they... Softened. Saddened.
"Given the current happenings and Dumbledore's less than friendly approach towards you," he began, his voice void of emotion despite what she saw on his face, "I feel it best that I be the one to deliver this news."
Something was wrong. She knew it. Her stomach twisted uncomfortably, dread swept through her and her palms grew damp.
Was she being expelled? Suspended? Heading for Azkaban?
"Later this afternoon, the Order was alerted to a breach in the wards placed on your parent's house."
Oh God, no!
"Two off-duty Aurors were sent to investigate and when they arrived, the house was surrounded by reporters, onlookers and the muggle authorities of police and fire-fighters. A fire has destroyed the majority of the building. Once the flames were extinguished, the arson investigators initially believed it to have been an accident. The Aurors carried out an investigation of their own and have since come to the conclusion the fire was set purposely. Two bodies were discovered and removed from the wreckage and the Dark Mark was found both by the bodies and in your childhood bedroom. The muggle authorities have identified the bodies as Jean and Richard Granger."
~000~000~000~
12 Grimmauld Place
Her eyes fluttered open slowly, her vision adjusting to the darkness only fought off by the candlelight. Her brow furrowing, she struggled to recall recent happenings and why was she in her bed at Grimmauld? She'd spent most of her summer sleeping in it, she could easily distinguish between it and her bed in her dorm without having to glance around at her surroundings.
Slowly pushing herself up and into a sitting position, she noted she was still clad in her school uniform, the sky had grown dark indicating some time had passed and she was in her room at Grimmauld.
Why wasn't she at school? What'd happened?
From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a dark figure in the corner, stood by the window and peering out at the street below, the moon and candlelight offering enough light for her to determine who it was.
"Professor?" She questioned.
Slowly, Snape turned to face her.
"Miss. Granger, I was concerned I would have to call for a medi-witch should you not awaken soon," he said in lieu of a greeting.
"What happened?" Her brow furrowed in confusion and annoyance. "Why are we at Grimmauld?"
His dark gaze swept over her searchingly. "You fainted."
"Fainted?" She echoed in disbelief.
"Yes, the news you received was difficult and overwhelming. You are here as this is where you will remain, under adult supervision, until arrangements have been made and you have put your parents to rest."
Parents to rest?
"I don't understand," she confessed in a whisper, her gaze falling down to her lap, her fingers twisting together.
"Miss. Granger, what do you remember?" He questioned, taking a step closer and into the candlelight, his dark clothing blending into the darkness, looking very much like a floating head, something that might have made her laugh were the circumstances different.
"I was by the Black Lake, transfiguring rocks into sticks and playing fetch with the Giant Squid. After that, nothing, it black, fuzzy."
He sighed softly and moved to sit on the chair after moving it to her bedside.
"I believe your mind is trying to protect you and not only that, you bumped your head when you fell from the chair. Temporary amnesia is understandable."
"And this news? What was it that it caused my memory loss and fainting?"
"Your parent's house suffered a fire, two bodies were removed and identified as Jean and Richard Granger."
"No," she shook her head in denial, believing him to be lying to her.
"The muggle authorities believe it to be an accident. There was a gas leak in the kitchen and your father is believed to have lit a cigarette, igniting the fire."
"No, it's not true!" She argued. "My father doesn't smoke and the oven's electric, not gas. That's impossible."
"The Aurors are in disagreement. They believe your parents were dead before the fire began and it was set to destroy possible evidence. They claim to have discovered the Dark Mark by the bodies and in your childhood bedroom."
"No, I don't believe you!" Her voice rose in panic, her chest tightening painfully, a sharp, stabbing pain shooting through her heart and her head swimming.
A memory came back to her. She'd felt this before. She'd felt it before her vision went dark.
"Miss. Granger," Snape snapped nastily, but it was just what she needed to jump-start her breathing and she gasped for air. A vial appeared before her. "Drink this," he instructed.
Her mind elsewhere and trying to debunk his previous words and prove her parents were fine, she absentmindedly took the vial from him and downed the contents, noting the taste of a Calming Draught. He took the empty vial from her and she felt her breathing slowly calm, her rapidly beating heart settle and her thought process slow. Her feelings of loss, fear, anger and disbelief were still present, only the Calming Draught made them more bearable.
"It can't be true."
"It is."
"But He promised me. He promised they wouldn't be harmed," she whispered, the back of her throat burning with the urge to cry, but she couldn't.
She'd just discovered her parents were dead, most likely murdered, and she couldn't shed a tear for them. What was wrong with her?
"This is something no child should face no matter the age, unfortunately, life does not care. The Aurors are going to further their investigation and they are going to inform us when and if more evidence is discovered. The Order's working to push the release of their bodies so funeral arrangements can be made before you return to school."
"They had plans," she muttered, her unfocused gaze locked on a spot on the wall, her legs pulling up to her chest and her arms folding around her knees, hugging them to her. "They'd already made funeral arrangements with the local funeral home. They wanted to be buried next to my Grandparents."
"One of the muggle liaisons will help with the arrangements and contact the funeral home. After the funeral, there is a matter of custody which must be discussed. Whilst you are of age in the Wizarding World, you are not in the Muggle World, and assuming your parents have a last will and testament, you must be eighteen before you will receive your inheritance. The Muggle banks are likely to require a custodian, and though the details are not yet clear, they will be before your return to Hogwarts. For now, I understand you might wish to be left alone to process this however you desire. I must return to Hogwarts and will have a house-elf send along some clothing and toiletries for your stay. You will be supervised for the entirety of your stay, and for your safety, you will be escorted to and from the funeral and you're not to leave."
"Thank you, Professor," she whispered. "I'm glad this news came from you and not Dumbledore."
"I know this is hard but try to get some rest. And I truly am sorry for your loss."
"You know, Professor, this nicer side of you's freaking me out."
"Very well. Are you not the daughter of a feared, powerful wizard?" He said, his voice growing cold and snarky. "Pull yourself together, emotions are for the weak. Slytherin himself would be rolling in his grave if he were to see you being so pitiful."
Hermione felt her mouth twitch. "Much better."
~000~000~000~
She sat on her bed, her back against the headboard, her tired eyes staring at the wall opposite, her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms folded around them, her chin resting atop. She was no longer clad in her school uniform as she'd changed into tracksuit bottoms and the matching hoodie, her hair being piled atop her head in a messy knot.
She had no idea of the time, only that it was no longer dark outside. She'd done as Snape had suggested and tried to get some sleep but she hadn't been able to. She'd taken a shower at an ungodly time during the early hours of the morning, hoping the hot water and steam would help her to relax, but it hadn't.
And so, she sat on her bed, unmoving.
A knock on the door sounded and in response, Hermione simply blinked, refusing to acknowledge it. It didn't deter whoever was on the other side as they opened it anyway.
"Hey, Granger," George Weasley greeted softly, his expression free of a smile or laugh.
"We wanted to give you some space, but we grew worried," added his twin brother, his expression an identical match to his brother's.
"How're you feeling?... Ow!" George hissed, glaring at his brother, his hand pressed to the back of his head.
"Don't look at me like that," Fred warned. "You deserved it, you idiot! What're you thinking asking her a question like that? How d'you think she's feeling?"
"Sorry," George apologised, looking chastised. "We just wanted to see if you wanted something to eat."
She remained silent and they shared a worried glance.
"It's just that, Snape told us you didn't have dinner and we know you haven't had breakfast, and you didn't come down for lunch, either. That's three missed meals. After everything that you've been through, you really shouldn't be skipping meals," said Fred, trying to sound authoritative without being pushy or judgemental.
"Yeah, and it's our job to watch out for you, we really don't want you fainting from hunger. This week's going to be hard enough without having to bring the medi-witches in to medicate you," continued George. "And we like you better when you're sane and not high on pain meds, you freaked the hell out of us over the summer," he joked, once more receiving no reply from her.
She was an unmoving statue, barely blinking, barely breathing.
Sighing, he strode across the room and reached out, his hands settling on her shoulders and shaking her lightly. She blinked, her eyes been drawn to him as he bent over at the waist, putting him at eye level. Her eyes focused on his and her brow furrowed.
"George?" She questioned quietly, her voice confused and timid.
"I'm Fred," he said automatically.
"The handsome twin?"
Fred laughed and George scowled at her.
"Yes, yes I am," Fred agreed, also crossing over to the bed and unceremoniously taking a seat beside her. "And this is why you're my favourite. Anyway, now that you've hurt Georgie's feelings, are you hungry?"
"No."
George drew back and stood to full height, his arms folding over his chest and his brow furrowing.
"I didn't want to have to do this... Fred, hold her down, we'll force-feed her."
"I feel sick," she replied, her eyes once more locked on the wall.
"Because you're hungry," he agreed. "You've missed three meals, you need to eat."
"I don't want to."
"Tough, you'll feel better."
"My parents are dead, possibly murdered, it's not going to make me feel better."
George winced at her response. It wasn't spoken with malice, it wasn't shouted and it wasn't whispered. She'd said it evenly, carelessly, void of emotion. That was more worrying than he'd like to admit. Hermione was a witch that felt deeply and for her to have shut down emotionally was frightening.
"But you need to eat," Fred picked up, seeing his brother's hesitation to respond. "We cooked for you. Be grateful, we've never done that for anyone else."
"I didn't know you could cook."
"It's a secret, so don't be blabbing. We convinced mum we're awful in the kitchen so we're not dragged into helping."
"Smart," she muttered. "But I've seen what you're capable of in a potions lab, and it's quite similar to cooking, so I suppose it shouldn't be so surprising."
"Well, no one else has tried our cooking before, so we could really use a second opinion," he needled. "What d'you say, help a wizard out? You're opinion matters the most to us, you know that."
She shrugged in response and given that she hadn't specifically declined, George gave Fred a nod in acknowledgement before making a quick trip to the kitchen, returning with a tray containing a plate, knife and fork and a glass of water.
Fred reached out and pried Hermione's arms away from her legs until they fell to the mattress and whilst she scowled at him, George quickly set the tray in her lap before sitting on her other side, wedging her in-between them.
"Really?" She griped in annoyance. Neither of them cared, it was the first sign of emotion from her.
"Give it a try. We haven't perfected the recipe yet, it's missing something; we're hoping you can tell us what it is. If you don't, we'll tell everyone that you're the reason the skiving snackboxes exist. Without you, we'd have just scrapped the idea."
Pursing her lips, she turned her eyes to the tray on her lap, silently admitting that it did smell good and as she reached for her knife and fork, she deliberately ignored Fred and George sharing a high-five behind her back. After cutting off a small section of the chicken breast and bringing it to her mouth, she chewed slowly and thoughtfully as the flavours burst across her tongue, her taste buds having a party. But she knew better than to compliment the twins in such a way. They'd never get their heads through the door and she'd never hear the end of it.
"It's good," she nodded.
"We know, but what's it missing?" Fred pressed.
"You're so modest," she snarked.
"Look at me, I'm practically a God," he argued.
She rolled her eyes. "What've you used for the spices? Rosemary, garlic?"
"And thyme, salt and pepper," George added.
"Then I know what's missing."
"And that is?"
"Lemon."
"Lemon?" They chorused, their heads tipped to the side.
"Lemon," she confirmed.
"That might work," Fred nodded slowly. "I'll be right back."
He stood from the bed, headed down to the kitchen and returned with a lemon and cheese grater. Taking it from him, Hermione cut it in half with her knife, squeeze the lemon juice over the chicken and then added some lemon zest. On her second taste test, she nodded to herself.
"I think that's it," she remarked.
"Really?" Asked Fred hopefully.
"Try for yourself," she shrugged, cutting off a small section before handing him the fork.
He took it and chewed slowly, his mouth pulling into a smile. "And she's done it again, Georgie," cried Fred.
George arched an eyebrow and accepted the fork from Hermione after she speared it with a piece of chicken, putting it into his mouth and sighing.
"D'you know how infuriatingly clever you are?" Said George, handing the fork back to her, being pleased when she continued eating the dish without further delay, complaint or encouragement. "We've been trying to work out the missing ingredients for weeks."
"Well, to be honest, I've had this before."
"What?" They blurted out with frowns.
"Sorry to say, you've accidentally and unknowingly recreated a dish known as lemon chicken. That's how I knew what was missing."
"Bloody hell," Fred complained.
Before they knew it, Hermione had eaten all of her food and after her glass of water had been set aside on the bedside table, the tray and dirty dishes were banished to the kitchen.
"What are you doing here?" She asked them, folding her legs and her hands slipping into the pouch-pocket of her hoodie. "Obviously, I assume you're here to keep an eye on me, as Snape said I'd have a chaperone even if I am of age. But there's plenty of people that could've been assigned. Why you? "
"We volunteered," George shrugged, his shoulder brushing hers given he was sat so close.
"Why?" Her brow furrowed. "You've a business to run, you should be there, not here watching over me, making sure I don't do something stupid or try to escape."
"By this point, the shop pretty much runs itself and we've got staff we trust to keep an eye on the place for a few days," answered Fred. "And we thought you might prefer us over mum or a stuffy, nameless Auror. You're going through something no one wants to and thought it would be best you see a friendly face."
"How're you feeling?"
"Really, George?" Fred said exasperatedly, debating whether or not to reach around Hermione and smack him upside the head again.
"What? I want to know," George argued.
"I don't know," Hermione confessed quietly, her head lowering and her eyes locking on the crinkled blanket. "I feel... numb. I feel angry, lost, devastated, broken, but I feel numb. I've tried to sleep but I couldn't. I've tried to cry and let it out, to not bottle it up, but I can't. It's almost as if it hasn't happened. Part of me's still hoping they've misidentified the bodies and that I'll go home for Christmas and they'll be by the tree with a hot chocolate and a hug waiting for me."
"Denial's common," said Fred. "And everyone grieves differently. You might not cry now because you're too overwhelmed. You might cry and struggle to stop. You might not cry at all. Either way, it's whatever helps you the most that matters. But now that we're happy you've eaten, we'll leave you alone."
When Fred and George both stood from the bed and made to take their leave, her hands shot out, wrapping around their wrists without even realising she'd done it. She blinked in surprise before looking to each of them in turn, seeing their matching questioning gazes.
"Will you stay? I don't want to be alone."
Barely sparing the other a glance, they both nodded and moved to sit beside her, wedging her between them once more.
~000~000~000~
Muggle London
Hermione stared at the polished black caskets, both sealed shut in order to hide the burnt, marred bodies that lay inside.
Fred and George stood tall on either side of her and the other attendants surrounded the two caskets that were waiting to be lowered into the ground and buried six feet under.
It was a cold day but the weather was otherwise fine despite there being a chance of rain later in the day. And that would just be the icing on the cake. In movies, it always rained during a funeral, didn't it? That seemed to be the only thing missing.
The vicar conducting the service in the freezing, smelly church? Check. The grieving daughter? Check. The friends of the family, acquaintances and patients from her parent's practice all sporting black? Check. The Aurors sneakily patrolling the perimeter in case of a Death Eater attack? Check. Everyone gathered outdoors on the cold, dreary day? Check.
The service had been simple just as her parent's had wished and when she'd gotten up before the attendants to say a few words about her parents, she hadn't been able to do it, staring out at the faces with her voice refusing to work. In typical Fred and George fashion, they'd come to her rescue and read the speech she'd spent days agonising over aloud, over embellishing and being dramatic as expected, drawing laughs from the crowd at the funnier parts and memories, and sniffles during the sadder, more upsetting parts.
And now, as the vicar gave his final speech before the caskets were lowered into the pre-purchased spots beside her Grandparents, it was silent.
Hermione couldn't cry. There was something holding her back. It had only been five days since she'd learned the news, and in those days, she didn't cry, she barely slept and she only ate because the twins were creative in their ways of convincing her. They left her alone during the morning and for most of the afternoon before they made an appearance, taking up seats on either side of her on the bed. Sometimes they drew her into random conversations, other times they sat in silence. But they didn't push her, force her to react or feel, they let her do as she wished. And she appreciated that. They were getting her through this, she wouldn't be standing by the caskets on her own.
Stepping forward, being mindful that her heels didn't get caught in the damp mud, Hermione placed a red rose on first her mother's casket and then her father's. Stepping back into place, Fred and George mirrored her actions and once they returned to her side, they silently slipped their larger hands around hers, offering a squeeze of support. She was grateful for it. She hadn't spoken a word all day and they hadn't pressured her, they'd simply sat beside her during the service and held her hand.
As the attendants began to take their leave, Hermione said her final goodbye to her parents, thanking them for giving her such a wonderful, loving home and for loving her as their own even if she wasn't.
The twins gently ushered her towards the black car that was waiting to take them to the wake, bringing them one step closer to the day being over. With the house being damaged beyond repair, the wake was being held at the local pub, a place her father often visited and he'd bring her along to watch the football. Even if she disliked the sport, she loved spending time with him as she often didn't get the chance with him being at work all the time.
Being the first to arrive, she was expected to wait by the entrance and greet everyone that made an appearance. She couldn't do it. When the crowd started arriving, she'd have people taking her hand in theirs or pulling her into a hug whilst they offered their condolences and shared a kind word or a memory or two about her parents. It was the twins that responded, thanking them for their kind words and wishing that they enjoy the buffet that had been prepared.
Hours passed with Hermione sat in the corner, the twins on either side of her, refusing to leave her alone, both as her support system and for her safety. They weren't just there to support her, they were there as her bodyguards.
"How long until this is over?" Hermione asked quietly, her voice being drowned out by the loud, drunken laughter in the pub.
The twins looked down at her, almost surprised to hear her voice as it was the first thing she'd said all day. She sat slumped in her chair, one arm folded around her stomach protectively and the other stretched out, her hand playing with a beer mat. The twins had both ordered a lager when they first stepped into the pub and they'd barely sipped from it, the pints still sat untouched on the table and had long since gone flat. They'd only done so for appearance sakes. Hermione, being underage, had opted for lemonade, which had also gone untouched.
"Shouldn't be too much longer, a few have already left," answered Fred.
"Your parents were well-liked," George observed.
Hermione shrugged. "They were community people, always involved in fundraising events for the school and church despite not being religious. They'd been dentists for so long they treated patients as kids and then they grew up and their kids became their patients. They donated to charity and volunteered once a month at the soup kitchen for the homeless, it was one of the few times we spent together."
She tiredly leaned her head to the side, resting against Fred's shoulder. He didn't blame her, he knew she hadn't been sleeping, he'd say she managed no more than two hours a night, if she slept at all.
"You're allowed to leave whenever you want," George told her. "You don't owe anything to anyone. It looks like most of these are just taking the opportunity to get pissed in the middle of the week."
"I don't know why, it's not as if it's a free bar," she grumbled with her eyes closed.
Fred, sharing a glance with his twin over the top of Hermione's head, nodded in agreement.
"Let's go, you've done everything expected of you and now it's time for you to have some peace and quiet."
Not giving her the chance to argue, George pulled her to her feet, through the throng of drinkers and out of the pub without anyone noticing, meaning she wouldn't be caught up in saying her goodbyes. After finding an alleyway, he withdrew the pre-made port-key from his coat pocket and it whisked them away to Grimmauld.
~000~000~000~
12 Grimmauld Place
When they landed, they had to reach out and steady Hermione as she'd almost fallen flat on her face when she lost her balance because of her heels. They then guided her towards the front door and stepped inside, both the Fidelius and protective wards allowing them access.
"You haven't eaten all day, what do you want for dinner?" Said George before the door had a chance to close behind them.
"I'm not hungry," Hermione replied.
He rolled his eyes. "'Course you are," he disagreed. "We've been working on this idea, instead of a Sunday dinner, why not take the best parts and eat them together? It's quicker and delicious."
"Yeah," Fred nodded. "Like the sausages from bangers and mash, gravy and the Yorkshire puddings from a dinner."
"That's a muggle dish."
"What?" His face fell.
"Sausages inside Yorkshire puddings, also known as, toad in the hole."
"Give me a break," he grumbled.
"Back to the drawing board, I suppose," George scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Anyway, you head upstairs and try and get some rest. We'll call you when dinner's done."
"I'm not hungry," she repeated.
"Liar," he retorted, turning on his heel and heading for the kitchen, refusing to argue with her further.
"Don't go far," Fred told her, also walking off.
"That's not funny," she grumbled, knowing fine well she was under house arrest. She was only allowed to leave for the funeral and to attend a meeting with the solicitor, something that had yet to be confirmed.
She slowly made her way to her room, the sound of her heels against the floor echoing in the silence. Stepping inside and closing the door behind her, she made to remove her pea coat but paused when she spotted the green and silver-tipped rose that sat on her pillow.
Approaching the bed and reaching out to grasp the thornless stem, she felt a familiar tug in her navel. She should've known better.
~000~000~000~
Malfoy Manor
She stumbled on her landing, almost snapping her ankle and tumbling to the ground before she managed to steady herself on the wall behind her.
"Graceful, as always."
Hermione pursed her lips before pushing away from the wall, standing tall and straight and lifting her head, seeing her father sat at his desk, a quill in hand and poised above the parchment.
"I'm wearing heels," she said in defence. "I was caught off guard, my mind's been otherwise preoccupied."
"So it has," he agreed, "And how has your day faired."
"Rubbish," she responded. "I've just buried my parents, how do you think it's been?" She said waspishly.
The change in his mood was subtle but instantaneous. He set his quill aside and rose to his feet, stepping from behind his desk and crossing to her, staring down at her with blood-red eyes and his thin lips set in a straight line. He wasn't pleased with her, not in the slightest.
"Is there something you wish to say?" He challenged.
"Is it true?" She blurted out.
"Should you desire an answer, you must be more specific," he drawled.
Her nose flared and she clenched her hands into fists before folding her arms over her chest, preventing her from drawing her wand. Father or not, he wouldn't hesitate to punish her should she hold him at wand point, regardless of the fact he was far more powerful than she and she didn't stand a chance against him.
"My parents, was it you? You promised me no harm would come to them. The Aurors reported the Dark Mark, your mark, being found by the bodies and in my bedroom, no doubt meant as a message for me."
"No, it was not me," he replied evenly. If he was angered by her accusation, he didn't show it. "I have had spies observing your parents and their house closely for some time. I received a report of suspicious behaviour from persons who were later identified as Dumbledore supporters. Believing the old fool to be concocting an elaborate plan with an unknown goal, I had my spies strike first."
"What?" She felt her mouth go dry, hope flutter in her stomach and her folded arms dropped.
"When your parent's returned from their shopping trip to the local supermarket, I had my men approach them and without delay, your parents were removed from the house and taken to a safe destination until later a time they could be moved."
"They're alive?" She whispered.
"They are alive and well," he confirmed.
Hermione's body visibly sagged with relief and without conscious thought or warning, she sprang forward, her arms folding around him and her face burying in his robes. She felt his tall frame stiffen to the point he could be mistaken for a statue but she didn't care if he was uncomfortable or irritated by her behaviour or her show of emotions, she was too happy with the news that her parents were alive. She fought back the tears and the sob that threatened to break free, not wishing to breakdown in his presence.
"The bodies?" She questioned, refusing to release her hold on him.
"Stolen from a morgue. They were already dead before the fire was set. I might not be aware of Dumbledore's intentions but it is likely he was planning on having your parents killed and putting fault on me, in a last attempt to prevent you from seeking me out. That would explain the presence of the Dark Mark. Little does he know, he is already too late."
"He threatened the lives of my family. One day, he's going to pay," she promised.
"And that day will come soon," he replied confidently, Hermione being surprised when she felt his frame shift as he slowly, reluctantly settled his arms around her. It was obvious he was uncomfortable but she appreciated the gesture.
He was trying, she told herself. He didn't believe in love, thought it to be weak and powerless and that's something they disagreed on. But since discovering she was his daughter, he was taking small steps to include her in his life, and whether he realised it or not, he was already showing a change in behaviour.
The warnings he'd given that no harm should come to her, the lessons in magic and spell crafting, the long conversations by the fireplace in his office, the roses he'd specially charmed for her and he sent her one a week, the vase in her bedroom slowly filling up and her birthday present of her favourite wizarding candy, a beautiful phoenix feather quill and a new book to help her studies with spell creation. He'd gone above and beyond, faking her parent's deaths to protect them for her sake and now, he was returning the hug she'd forced upon him.
She should be afraid, he was hardly human in appearance and his previous transgressions were well known; torture, murder, blackmail, kidnapping, theft... But he was her father.
"When can I see them?"
"Never."
Her eyes flew open and she drew back from him, staring up at him with wide eyes.
"What?" She swallowed. "Why?"
"Should you visit your parents, you will put both them and yourself at risk. In order to prevent this from happening again, your parent's memories were taken, leaving no knowledge of you or the existence of magic. They have been given new identities and relocated out of Europe and to Australia."
"They don't know who I am?" She whispered in horror.
"No, they do not. It is what is best for their safety and yours. You asked that I protect them and I have. They are no longer targets and they are free to live the remainder of their lives without fear and without concern for you."
"But I never got a chance to say goodbye," her eyes lowered. She felt tears spring forth but pushed them back once more.
She'd never truly believed they were dead, not in her heart. Perhaps that was why she wasn't able to cry over the last few days, because deep down she knew. But learning that they were alive and safe in another continent, living happily and without the knowledge of the daughter they'd raised since a baby... That was felt worse than them being dead. Death was final, she knew they were at rest, she knew they were safe from harm, she knew they'd loved her to their last breath. But this... There was always a chance they might one day see each other again and they wouldn't know who she was, there was always a chance they'd be discovered and harmed.
"Perhaps that is for the best. And now, it is just you and I."
"I suppose it is," she whispered. "Why are you only telling me this now? Did Snape know? It's been five days."
"Your grieving had to be indisputable, not only for the muggles but for Dumbledore."
"But with the 'death' of my parents, Dumbledore's going to be watching me closely. I might be of age here, but in the Muggle World, I'm not. He's going to want to know my plans for the school holidays, Christmas is coming soon. He won't allow me to leave without permission."
"That is already taken care of," he assured her. "Snape was able to persuade Dumbledore that he be the only suitable custodian for the time being. Being under Snape's watchful eye, Dumbledore will believe you to be spending the holidays with him, when in fact, you will be with me."
"That works," she nodded slowly in agreement, doing her best to push aside the topic of her parents until she was alone. "Dumbledore believes him to be his loyal spy, and from what Snape's told me in passing, he is greatly trusted. Dumbledore will trust that Snape is keeping me under lock and key. I'm to assume he'll be attending the meeting with my parent's solicitor."
"Yes, Dumbledore would not allow it otherwise."
"By law, I'm entitled to my inheritance and a meeting with my solicitor, but we already know of Dumbledore's disregard for the rules and bending them to suit his own purpose."
"What of the news I hear regarding your injuries?"
Hermione blinked slowly at the sudden change in topic before sighing, cursing Snape beneath her breath. Of course, he'd tell her father.
"It seems you already know," she shrugged one shoulder as her eyes lowered to the ground.
"I would like to hear it from you," he responded, but the order was clear.
"It seems that despite the warnings that were distributed, many of Slytherin house have chosen to ignore them regardless of the consequences. I don't know if they're stupid or brave, perhaps stupidly brave," she mused. "I was expecting the occasional shove in the corridors and whispered insults in class, but I never thought they'd be stupid enough to physically attack, especially when my back is turned."
She saw his eyes flash dangerously.
"The first time I was unprepared and did receive minor injuries of scraped knees and palms, but I've since learned my lesson and I always have a Shielding Charm ready."
"Only defensive magic?" He questioned, arching a non-existent eyebrow.
"Yes, I'd rather not risk using offensive magic and have them use it against me. There is nothing to stop them from going to Dumbledore and making accusations of an unprovoked attack. And whilst you might have influence over the board of governors that will prevent me from being expelled or suspended, there is nothing preventing Dumbledore from issuing punishment. He's already gotten to the majority of the teaching staff and I'm forced to work harder than my peers to achieve my grades. Only Snape and Slughorn remain unaffected. As for who is responsible for the attacks, I don't know. They usually target me when there are crowds or when I'm alone in the corridors. I've only seen the red or green of their robes, Slytherins and Gryffindors. Hufflepuffs are too afraid of me and Ravenclaws know better than to get involved. I feel the standards of our house have severely diminished over the years, Salazar would be rolling in his grave."
"Oh?" He questioned amusedly.
"Slytherins are known for being cunning and resourceful, there is nothing cunning about hiding in the shadows and attacking when one's back is turned. A true Slytherin would quietly observe, bide their time and strike when least expected."
His thin lips twitched into a smile. "You are planning revenge," he stated knowingly.
"Yes, I am," she admitted. "And it must be done without alerting suspicion. I'm not entirely certain who is involved but I have my suspicions, and once I confirm them, my targets will be chosen and I'll be sure they all known their mistake in targeting me and going against orders. And, of course, I'll be aiming for maximum damage."
"And Dumbledore?"
"I'm not aiming to physically harm them," she shrugged. "We're dealing with pompously raised Purebloods, those that believe they're better than everyone else no matter the wealth or status. And what's the most valuable asset for a Pureblood? More specifically, a teenager?" She asked, seeing him tip his head slightly. "Reputation," she offered. "Particularly, the females."
His mouth pulled into the biggest smile she'd yet to see from him, and it was a little frightening, she admitted to herself.
"Social punishment," he remarked.
"Yes. Physical punishment can be easily forgotten, but humiliation, that's sticks with a person. And should I ruin their reputations beyond repair, they'll never recover. But I've yet to decide how far I wish to take this, I'm still observing and planning. If they settle down and stop attacking me, I'll be merciful."
"I know what you did to Umbridge; that was not merciful."
"She deserved it," she shrugged unapologetically.
His eyes moved to the ornate clock that sat above the fireplace before he looked down at her once more.
"Some time has passed since your arrival and you must return before you are discovered missing."
"Before I do, there's something I want to ask you," she said, and he must've sensed her nervousness with the topic as he observed her closely. "Fred and George Weasley," she began, pausing for a moment so she might better gather her words.
"The blood traitors?"
Her lips pursed and her brow furrowed as she glanced up at him unhappily. "Don't call them that," she chided. "Just because they don't care for the current politics doesn't make them blood traitors. They might not hate Muggleborns, but they do still uphold their Pureblood traditions, and they are still Pureblood," she pointed out. "Anyway, I admit, the majority of the Weasleys are... Well, you understand... But they're not like the others."
"Is there a point you wish to make? We are limited on time."
"Yes, well," she cleared her throat uncomfortably. "I would like to ask that whatever the outcome, you give them immunity."
"Excuse me?" Both of his non-existent eyebrows rose high on his forehead. It was almost comical.
"Fred and George, I would like for you to give them immunity. As I said before, they're not like the rest of their family. You know they saved my life after the attack and they offered me treatment for my bruises. They volunteered to be my chaperones this week so they might watch over me and ensure my safety."
"You care for them," he stated. His expression gave nothing away.
"I do, very much," she admitted. "Ron, Ginny, Mrs. Weasley, I couldn't give a toss what happens to them after the way they've treated me, and Percy, Charlie and Bill I've had but a handful of interactions. The twins are different."
"Show me," he instructed.
She sighed. "It gives me a headache," she grumbled.
"Then do not fight me," he replied. "Do as I have told you before, bring forth the memories."
Taking a moment to centre both her magic and her mind, she looked him dead in the eye and nodded in consent, immediately feeling a presence. When her head pounded painfully as he began searching through her memories, she did her best to focus on Fred and George, bring memories of their interactions to the front of her mind for her father to witness.
The first memory showed one of their first interactions during her first year. They'd found her sniffling in an abandoned classroom (before the troll incident) and after trying to unsuccessfully flee in embarrassment; they sat her down, took the time to speak with her and promised her that things would get better.
Another memory came forth, this one from her second year. There was no visual, only audio recall as the twins snuck into the hospital wing and told stories of their greatest pranks, keeping her company during her petrifaction. The next memory came from her third year; the twins had found her crying in the Astronomy Tower after the majority of Gryffindor had shunned her for her turning in Harry's Firebolt to McGonagall. And despite their own annoyance with her, they'd sat with her and made her laugh until she felt better, promising her that it would all blow over.
Fourth year, the memory came from the Yule Ball and after Viktor had excused himself to use the bathroom, Fred and George each took her for a spin around the dance floor before keeping her company until he returned. She offered memories of their interactions during her fifth year, some from their time in the D.A when they partnered together and duelled, and others when she'd secretly helped them develop their products after getting annoyed with them constantly following her around and begging for her to lend her brain.
And then she showed the memories of their interactions over the summer, namely them defending her against Harry and Ron, before they jumped to the happenings of the previous week, showing how they encouraged her to eat and sleep, how they sat with her, took care of her and how they supported her during the funeral and the wake.
She winced when he drew back from her mind unexpectedly, her eyes closed tightly and her hands coming up to press against her temples. She felt sick.
When she dared to open her eyes, she noted his thoughtful expression staring down at her.
"They have always been kind to me, no matter of the fact it was unknown to others. Until recently, I hadn't realised it myself. They were always there when I needed help, as you just witnessed. They were kind to me when no one else was. They looked out for me when no one else did."
"They care for you," he observed as his forehead crinkled. "They have shown loyalty to you over their siblings, when no one else has."
"I... I suppose they have," she agreed, trying not to shift under his penetrating gaze. "I would like to return the sentiment and ensure they are not harmed. At the very least, I owe them for all that they've done for me, and I owe them my life."
His eyes searched her expression for a moment longer, silence falling around them.
"Very well, I will ensure their protection and only them, as repayment for ensuring your safety."
"Thank you," she sighed in relief, and for the second time that evening, she wrapped herself around him and hugged him tightly. He stiffened as expected before hesitantly slotting his arms around her, his movements stiff but appreciated.
"I might have given them a pardon and protection, but you do not have my permission to marry them."
"Really?" She grumbled, rolling her eyes. "We made an agreement. I am allowed to choose my own husband, I have until the age of twenty-one to get married and you wouldn't interfere so long as I followed the rules set."
"You may choose your own spouse but I must approve the nuptials, and he must be a Pureblood."
"I care for the twins, Father, but I can't see myself marrying them. For all the interactions you witnessed, there were just as many arguments and threats shared that you did not. Being raised so closely with them has made it awkward for any relationship to form. And they'd annoy me one too many times with their pranks resulting in possible injury."
"I am glad we are in agreement."
"Besides, I've no intention of marrying yet and no one is interested given my believed Muggleborn status. Once my identity is revealed, I imagine half of the male population would be too afraid to approach me and the other half would be lined around the corner, hoping to use me to gain favour with you. And that is why I wish to choose my own partner. I don't care for wealth or alliances, I want my partner to have a head on his shoulders. If he's as dumb as a box of rocks, I'd lose my mind."
"You seek intelligence," he commented.
"And kindness. I want to be secure in knowing that he will not harm me not because he's afraid of what you might do to him, but because he is kind. And I know that don't care for such qualities, but kindness and compassion can have a great influence on many people. Fear and power is not always needed, as I know you disagree. But for now, we'll have to pause this conversation because I don't want to worry the twins with my disappearance."
She drew back from him and as she made to use the floo network to travel to the Leaky Cauldron where she'd then apparate to Grimmauld, she paused, staring up at him silently.
"Yes?" He questioned.
"Something's different."
Her brow furrowed in confusion and she slowly reached up, her fingertips pressing against his cheek. He tried to move back from her but she simply followed.
"Your skin... It's not as... waxy. And it feels warmer." She drew her hand back, her eyes examining him carefully. "And your cheekbones are more pronounced." When her eyes locked with his, they widened slightly. "Your eyes, I can see flecks of brown. They're not solely red."
He silently conjured a handheld mirror before glancing at his reflection, his eyes darting between her and the mirror.
"That is odd," he remarked, also seeing the changes she spoke of. They were subtle but the longer he stared, the more noticeable they became. "Most odd, indeed."
~000~000~000~
12 Grimmauld Place
"Oh, thank Merlin!"
"Where the bloody hell have you been?!"
Hermione blinked slowly in surprise before closing the door behind her. Fred and George stood in the entrance hall, their expressions marred with relief, concern and anger as they stared at her.
"We told you not to leave," said George.
"Well, I don't do well with being told what to do," she responded, "Something I know you relate to. And regardless of Dumbledore's orders, I'm legally of age, he has no control over me. Should I wish to take a walk and have some time to process the burial of my parents, then I will take it and nothing will stop me, not you and certainly not holier-than-thou Dumbledore."
She pushed her way past them, using her smaller frame to her advantage as she stormed up the stairs and to her bedroom, slamming the door shut childishly. After removing her coat and heels, she fell onto her bed, her face burying in her pillow as she clutched it to her and for the first time, she cried.
She cried and she didn't stop.
An hour later there was a knock on the door and refusing to answer as her tears silently fell, it opened anyway, as she'd expected. She should've warded it.
"Granger, we're sorry," Fred apologised. "We were just worried about you."
"You disappeared without a word and there's people out there that want your head on a pyre," George continued.
Hermione felt the mattress dip on both sides of her, the twins' weight being added to her bed.
"We know it's been a difficult few days and today was the worst, of course, you've a right to some time alone should you wish it. We just wish you'd have told us first."
She felt a warm hand settle on her shoulder and a second followed it, resting between her shoulder blades. It was their way of silently offering comfort.
"If you want us to leave you alone, just say so."
She remained quiet and she kept her face hidden.
They didn't leave until after she'd cried herself to sleep.
~000~000~000~
The days passed slowly during her stay at Grimmauld. She remained hidden in her room and barely left, if only to use the bathroom and quickly shower. She only ate because the twins brought her meals to her and encouraged her to do so. She spent most of her time doing one of two things, sleeping or crying.
Her eyes seemed to be permanently red and swollen, her nose always sniffly and dripping with snot, her throat sore from her cries and her lips chapped and dry. She was crying for the loss of her parents. For the loss of their memories. For the loss of their love. When she'd known they were dead, she'd known they'd love her. Now that she knew they were alive, she knew they had no idea who she was and they knew nothing of their love for her. And her heart broke with the knowledge.
She was grateful they were alive and safe, that they were able to live freely and without fear, but a part of her wished they were dead. She'd lost her parents forever and because she knew they were well, that made it all the more heartbreaking.
"Granger," George began softly. "Snape's here. You've your appointment with the solicitor in half an hour."
"And we know you wouldn't want him seeing you like this, so we had him wait in the kitchen. You've not got long to get ready," added Fred.
Hermione reluctantly pushed herself up from her stomach and to a sitting position, turning to face the twins. She could count on one hand the number of people she felt comfortable being vulnerable with, and the twins were two of them, her parents being the others.
"I'm a lost cause," she sniffled, wiping the falling tears from her swollen eyes.
"Nonsense," George argued, "You look stunning."
"Yeah," Fred agreed, nodding, "No one pulls off the snotty, bloodshot eyes look quite like you. You'll have the muggles falling at your feet."
"Don't be ridiculous," she huffed but her mouth did twitch.
"And to keep them away from her, we best work our magic and made her less presentable," George continued. "Let's get to work," he clapped his hands excitedly. Crossing to the bed, he took Hermione's hands in his before pulling her to her feet, scrutinizing her carefully before nodding to himself. "I have just the thing," he declared. He reached into his pocket and withdrew with a violet-coloured potion. "Drink this," he instructed.
"What is it?" She eyed it warily.
"Drink it and find out," Fred shrugged, coming up beside his twin.
Against her better judgement, she did take it from him, removed the stopper and downed the potion, noting the fruity taste. That was certainly different.
"Damn," Fred sighed, reaching up to push his hair back from his eyes. "It didn't work, Georgie."
"It would seem she's no match for our product."
"What was it?"
"Beautification Potion," George answered. "But it didn't work, you look exactly the same."
"Obviously, she's stunning enough and doesn't need the help," Fred shrugged.
"Apparently so," George agreed.
"Shut up," Hermione grumbled, feeling her cheeks heating up and she crossed over to the vanity table, taking a glance in the mirror.
All visible signs of her previous nonstop crying breakdown were gone. Her eyes no longer looked red or swollen, her nose was no longer sore and sniffly and her cheeks were no longer marked with tearstains. She looked like her previous, normal self.
"We'll leave you to get dressed but I'd hurry if I were you. Snape'll lose his patience soon, he didn't look too pleased when we told him you weren't ready," said Fred.
"But if you need us, we'll be in the kitchen preparing dinner. We've a new dish we want you to try," George added before they both took their leave.
~000~000~000~
"How're you feeling?"
"Like shit," Hermione muttered.
"Language, Miss. Granger," George scolded, looking scandalised.
"And how'd the meeting go?"
"Shitter." She collapsed onto the hideous armchair in the living room, kicked her heels off her aching feet and pulled them up, swinging them over the armrest, twisting until her back pressed against the opposite one.
"Blasphemy!" George gasped in outrage.
"Bite me," she hissed.
His eyes flashed and his mouth twitched into a smirk. "Anywhere in particular, Love?"
She rolled her eyes and reached up, removing the clip from her hair until her curls tumbled down her back and over her shoulders, rolling her neck from one side to the other before she sighed in relief, finding relief from the ache.
"It's been a shitty week," she marked.
"My Goodness, three times in five minutes," George tsk'ed. "That's more than I've heard from you all year."
"And why'd the meeting go so terrible?" Fred asked, shooting his twin an amused glance.
"Too much paperwork involved and too many people sticking their noses in where they don't belong. It's all sorted now, though. I'm just pissed it had to take so bloody long. I don't know what the problem was; I had all my identification and documentation, proof of death and the last will and testament. Not that it matters now. Now that's it all over with, I just want things to go back to normal. I don't want to feel shitty anymore. I'm tired of it," she grumbled. "Anyway, I'm going to grab a quick shower before getting changed."
~000~000~000~
"Bloody hell!" Hermione hissed, almost losing her footing and tumbling to the ground.
She saw Fred's and George's eyes widen at the snake-like sound that unintentionally slipped free. They were comfortably perched on the foot of her bed and stepping into her room, clad in only a towel which she gripped tightly, she hadn't been expecting them to be there.
"What're you doing here?"
"We wanted to talk to you about something," George replied, not hiding the fact his eyes swept over her towel-clad frame, it barely protecting her modesty as water droplets ran down her skin and her hair was clipped into place atop her head as she hadn't wished to get it wet.
"Surely it can wait, I'm clearly not prepared for company," she pointed out.
"We don't mind," George shrugged, unashamed. She pursed her lips. "What?" He asked innocently.
"We need to confess something to you," said Fred.
"And it can't wait until I'm dressed?"
"No," George answered without hesitation.
"We know who you are," Fred blurted out.
"You've lost me," Hermione replied, puzzled by his statement.
"You don't have to hide it from us. We know who you are. We have for a while, if we're being honest. But we felt now was the time to tell you."
"I still have no idea what you're talking about."
"Hermione," he began, instantly grabbing her attention. It was the first time he'd used her given name. "We know."
"Know?" She prompted slowly.
"Bloody hell, witch," George rolled his eyes and folded his arms over his chest. "You want us to spell it out for you? Three words. Heir of Slytherin."
"Okay?" She drew out the word slowly.
"We know you're the Heir of Slytherin. You're Voldemort's daughter."
Hermione blinked slowly, dumbly, before laughter bubbled from her.
"Don't be ridiculous," she sniggered.
Their expressions remained perfectly serious. They weren't buying her attempt of brushing it off as a joke.
"We know," George said firmly. "You see, we weren't blind to our mother's sudden change in attitude, and the other's soon followed, no doubt from her influence, they've always been like sheep, so easily led, but not us."
"And then Dumbledore started bringing you up in Order meetings," Fred took over, "Being careful to never outright say anything incriminating but it was clear he was planting the seed of doubt regarding your character and loyalty. And we thought to ourselves, why is Dumbledore suddenly hating on you? So you know what we did? We went digging."
"We knew you spent a lot of time in the Black library and we assumed Dumbledore believed you'd been spending too much time around the risqué books and you'd been drawn in by the power. So, of course, we went snooping, didn't we, Freddie?"
"We sure did," Fred nodded.
"We looked through each book that had evidently been touched given the lack of dust compared to the other books on the shelves. Most of them were rudimentary spell casting and wardings, but there was one book that we found that was out of place. A Hogwarts' yearbook from 1945. And after peeking inside, imagine our surprise when we came across a photo of the head boy, Tom Riddle."
"And imagine our surprise when we saw the startling similarities between him and you," finished Fred. "I've gotta say, your father was a good looking bloke, and he has not aged well."
"Of course, this was all just a coincidence until we were able to pin Kreacher down long enough to speak to us, the little elf knows more than anyone realises, he's a goldmine of info. And with what he told us, we deduced that Tom Riddle is Voldemort. And that is why Dumbledore hates you."
She felt panic bubbling in her chest and a brief thought entered her mind to summon her wand and escape, but not only were the twins remarkable duellists, but she also didn't believe she had it in her to raise her wand to them, no matter the outcome.
"We've done it, Freddie, we've finally stumped her speechless," George smirked.
"But we're not through yet," Fred added. "We don't care."
"What?" She blurted out.
"We don't care who your father is," he repeated, shrugging his shoulders. "The sins of a father shouldn't be blamed on the child. It's not your fault he's your father, it's the luck of the draw. In another lifetime, it might've been me and George. So, what we want to know is, did you know? When did you find out? And what's the deal with your parents?"
Her eyes swept about her surroundings.
George snorted. "You wanna make a break for it wearing only a towel?" He arched an eyebrow. "Go for it, I'd love to chase after you with your arse barely being covered," he wriggled his eyebrows suggestively and Fred smacked him upside the head in warning.
"We're not going to tell anyone," Fred promised. "Dumbledore doesn't know that we know. You want us to take a wand oath? George?"
"Let's do it," his twin nodded in agreement, drawing his wand. "I, George Fabian Weasley,"
"And I, Fred Gideon Weasley,"
"...Swear upon my magic to never reveal the secrets of Hermione Granger to another being, creature or spirit," they chorused together, a band of magic slotting around their wrists.
"Why did you do that?" Her brow furrowed in confusion despite feeling her nerves, fear and panic settle as the oath was sealed.
"To prove you can trust us, and now, anything you tell us, we can't blab to anyone else, no matter what you say. If you tell us you're planning Dumbledore's death, well, tough look for him because our lips are sealed," shrugged Fred. "We trust you and we know you. No matter the decision you've made, you're not dark or evil. Don't get us wrong, you're vindictive as hell when you wanna be, but you're not evil. And you're one of the most loyal people we've met, so we'd understand if something happened to break it and have you turn elsewhere. There's no point in keeping secrets from us."
She pursed her lips before shifting on her feet. "Can I get dressed first?"
"No, there's nothing wrong with what you're wearing," said George, offering a smile. She scowled at him and pulled the towel tighter. "Now, answer the questions."
"My parents adopted me when I was a baby," she confessed. "I didn't find out until last summer, after the attack. I had dreams about this woman who I later learned to be my deceased mother. She was a Pureblood witch from Albania, she fell pregnant with me and moved to Britain to search for my father. He didn't know about me and she died in childbirth. She gave me his name and after doing some digging, it led me to him."
"And does he know about you now?"
"Yes," she admitted, feeling uncomfortable voicing it for the first time. Aside from Snape and Dumbledore, no one else knew the truth. "I found him during the summer, confronted him. He cast a Lineage Charm and confirmed I'm his daughter."
"Bloody hell," George shook his head. "It's one thing to know but it's another to have it confirmed. Your Voldemort's daughter!"
"I'm aware," she responded dryly. "He's not the monster people think he is. Well, he is," she corrected, "But not with me. He's different. He wishes to know about my life and the childhood my parents gave me, he wishes to give me the best education and opportunities possible. He's claimed me as being of his blood but he wishes to keep my identity secret for the time being, for my protection."
"Understandable, you'd have a target on you back bigger than China," Fred agreed before tipping his head. "So, have you swapped sides? Joined his cause?"
"It's complicated," she sighed tiredly. "You know how I am about fighting for the underdog..."
"Yeah, I remember your free the house-elves crusade vividly," George interrupted.
"And I'm trying to sway him away from harming Muggleborns and muggles, but it's not easy. To be honest, I don't think he cares, I think it's only for the sake of the supremacists, to keep their loyalty."
"If anyone can do it, it's you," Fred shrugged.
"I'm not spying on anyone, I have no missions or other focuses. He just wants me to keep my head down and remain top of my class. I've told him I refuse to harm another, I refuse to turn to the dark arts and I refuse to witness anything inappropriate, morally or otherwise. He's promised that I will be kept away from it all."
"Sounds like a swell guy," George remarked. "Really, he just wants to take over the world and keep his little girl in school."
Hermione glared at him fiercely. He merely smirked and arched a challenging eyebrow.
"Look, I never realised how good you were to me over the past few years, and I've only recently noticed. You showed me kindness when no else did. And because you saved my life, I was able to bargain with my father."
"For?" They chorused.
"Your immunity. No matter what happens, you will be protected." They blinked in surprise, sharing an undecipherable look. "It wasn't easy, he forced me to share my memories so he might witness why I believed you were worthy of protection, and he granted me my wish. I did try for the rest of your family," she lied, but they didn't need to know that, "But he wasn't willing to agree to those terms. It was you or nothing at all, and so I chose you."
They watched her silently and it unnerved her.
"I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to you and I could've prevented it. So, I risked it all with by bargaining for the immunity of members from a family of known 'blood traitors.' And if I could go back and do it again, I would. I owed it to you."
"You owe us nothing," said George.
"I owe you everything," she corrected. "You were there for me when I needed someone. You were there when I needed help. It's thanks to you that I finally realised I deserved to be treated better, that I was worth more than Harry and Ron had me believe. You're the ones that said they didn't deserve my loyalty, that I should find someone that did. And that's what I've done. Currently, only three people have it and that is my father and you. I don't know the outcome of the future, I don't know how long it will take for it all to be over, but should my father win, you will be protected and I'll do everything I can to help the others even if they wouldn't show me the same courtesy."
"Because you're not evil," Fred reiterated.
"You know what's ironic? I might never have gone to my father to share with him what I'd learned if it weren't for Dumbledore. At the time, I only knew a name, not the person he'd become. Had Dumbledore showed me kindness rather than push me away and isolate me from the others, I might have stayed loyal to him. He's partially the reason I have a relationship with my father. And you want to know something else? My father isn't responsible for my parent's deaths. Dumbledore is."
"What?" They both blinked in confused disbelief.
"He had them killed and framed my father by having his men cast the Dark Mark and set the house on fire to destroy any evidence," she fibbed. Well, not technically, those had been his plans, but as far as everyone believed, her parents were dead. "I believe it was an attempt to keep me from seeking him out. If I believed he'd killed my parents, I'd want him dead and I wouldn't side with him."
"He wouldn't do that, would he?" Fred's brow furrowed.
"I don't know, Freddie," George shrugged. "You've heard the rumours flying about, and he has been acting shady lately. He's always rattling on about the 'greater good'. I wouldn't put it past him to do some crazy shit like that if it helped his plans along, and losing Miss. Brainbox would be a blow he doesn't need."
"Too late," Fred snorted.
Hermione thought they were taking the news rather well considering they'd just discovered she was technically no longer on their side, which technically made them enemies.
"Anyway, this week's been shitty and it's drained the life out of me. I can't wait until I no longer feel like crap and I've something else to focus on. And since I've nothing more to tell and you're clearly not going to leave my room, I'll find somewhere else to change."
Turning on her heel and stepping from the room, she'd barely made it halfway down the corridor when a hand encircled her wrist and tugged her backwards, her back hitting a solid chest. Peering up and over her shoulder, her brow furrowed in confusion.
"George? What're you doing?"
He peered down at her, his turquoise orbs locking with hers.
"You said you're tired of feeling rubbish? What if I can help?"
"What?"
"I can help make you feel better. I can give you something that will make you forget for a little while."
She sighed, being able to read between the lines. Peering around George, she noted Fred casually leaning against the wall, his arms folded over his chest and one ankle crossed over the other as he quietly watched.
"Aren't you going to reign him in like you usually do?" She asked the other twin.
"No."
Hermione blinked in surprise.
"In fact, I'm in agreement with him." His mouth twitched into a smirk and his eyes sparkled with mischief.
"What?"
"You can't be walking 'round like that and not expect a wizard to react."
"It's your fault I'm like this," she argued.
"So it is," he agreed, pushing away from the wall and slowly approaching, his gaze refusing to leave her as he came to a stop before her.
Hermione barely noticed George's hands slipping down her waist and curling around her hips.
"This makes no sense."
"Why?" George challenged from behind her. "Because you're beautiful? Crazy smart? Wickedly vengeful? We're pranksters, those are the best qualities to have, don't ya know?"
"You want the truth?" Fred lowered his mouth to her ear, his warm breath ghosting across her skin, a shiver racing down her spine and her breath hitching. "We've had a bit of thing for you for years."
"That's not true," she denied.
George snorted. "Love, I've lost count of the number of times I've polished the old broomstick to thoughts of you, if you catch my drift."
Hermione felt her cheeks heat up and she swallowed, trying to find her bearings.
"You know, we'd intended on asking you to the Yule Ball? But good old Viktor got there first, we'd hidden behind the bookcases, preparing to pluck up the courage when he beat us to it. Our final year, why do you think we were constantly on your case? It wasn't solely 'cause we wanted your help fixing the recipes for our products... We just wanted to spend more time with you, but you were clueless. We made a few comments in passing over the summer and they went over your head."
"I thought you were joking," she muttered, her eyes falling to the ground, but Fred's hand under her chin forced her to look back to him.
"We never joke when it comes to you. Every comment, compliment and insinuation is meant. It's also why we volunteered. When we heard there was an opportunity to spend more time with you, we jumped at it, even if that does make us terrible people giving the circumstances."
"We care about you," George shrugged.
"And we know you care about us. You wouldn't have risked everything for our protection if you didn't."
"I do care," she confessed quietly. "But nothing can happen."
"Why?"
"He forbid it. If he finds out..."
"He won't," George promised.
"He will, he searches my mind on every visit."
"Is that where you were today?"
"Yes, he wanted to check on my wellbeing after putting my parents to rest."
"Dad of the year," George grumbled. "He's not gonna find out. Let us make you feel better."
She sighed. "Even if I wanted to, I can't."
"Why?" Fred arched an eyebrow, his hand still gently holding her chin, keeping her gaze locked with his.
"He made me take an oath on my magic. I must remain..."
"Pure," they both guessed.
"Yes, until my wedding night, which he expects to happen before my twenty-first birthday, but unlike most, he is allowing me to choose my own spouse. He does not approve of you. After granting immunity, those were the first words out of his mouth."
"We'd be fabulous sons-in-law," George huffed. "You say that, but I'm not hearing a 'no'."
"I can't."
Fred's mouth twitched into a smirk.
"But you can, Love," George whispered from behind. "There are ways of getting around such vows, you just have to be creative and cunning. You are cunning, aren't you? Isn't that what Slytherins are known for? Correct me if I'm wrong but don't you have Slytherin blood in your veins? How was the vow worded?"
"I do so vow to remain pure until my wedding night," she quoted.
The twins shared a smile, their eyes twinkling.
"You vow to remain pure but not untouched. And that gives us options," said Fred. "If you let us, we can flip your world upside, we can change the way you think, we can take you places you've never been before. All you have to do is say yes. If you say no, we'll walk away, leave you alone and never speak of it again."
Her eyes closed and she breathed deeply, their clean scent of soap and citrus filling her nose, minus the usual smoke or potion ingredient aspect.
"Yes."
Her eyes fluttered open and Fred's smile was predatory.
"You're expected to return to Hogwarts on Monday. For this weekend only, you are ours, and only ours."
Taking her hand in his, he tugged her back towards her bedroom, George kicking the door shut behind them and erecting Silencing and Locking wards, just in case.
~000~000~000~
When Monday morning arrived, Hermione stood by the fireplace, waiting for the signal that alerted her she was to take her leave.
She'd developed a new walk, her voice had changed slightly, her posture was different, she saw the world with new eyes, and it was all because of the twins.
Turning away from the fireplace and to the twins, they were both stood by the door, Fred with his arms over his chest and George with his hands in his pockets. They tried to hide it but she could see their sadness and disappointment.
Her expression softening, she approached and pulled them into a hug, their arms folding around her and their noses burying in her neck.
"I'm going to miss you," she admitted quietly. "Thank you. You are the only reason I survived this ordeal, and I owe you everything. Please, be careful. Whilst you might have immunity, there is always a chance of being caught in the crossfire and I shan't be pleased if one of you is injured after the hassle I went through to ensure your protection."
"Same for you, Love," said George. "Be careful and watch out for Dumbledore. If Ron or Ginny bother you, let us know and we'll send them a special package to put them in their place."
"Yeah, no one hurts our girl," Fred agreed.
"And if you need help with a product or a new cooking recipe, send me an owl."
"Will do," they promised.
"We've a few ideas for new products that you've actually inspired," Fred admitted. "We're thinking of dipping our toes into the adult entertainment business. Something that might spice up a relationship."
Hermione laughed softly before she drew back from them, peering over her shoulder to see the flames burst into purple.
"That's my cue," she smiled sadly.
She removed her hands from theirs despite their reluctance to let go and she returned to the floo with her shrunken luggage in hand.
"Thank you," she smiled, it being the last thing they saw before she disappeared into flames of green.
"We've should've told her," said George.
"And what good would that have done?" Challenged Fred. "Her father would never allow it. Has forbidden it."
"We can make her happy," he argued. "She hasn't stopped laughing and smiling all weekend."
"Then we've done what we set out to do. Make her feel better and help her. But that's all we can do."
"I love her," George muttered sadly.
Fred sighed. "And I love her, too, but nothing else can happen. We should be grateful we had the weekend with her and that we got to experience the things we did. And that is all we can have."
"It's not enough."
"I know, but there's nothing that can be done about it. Right now, we have to find a way to move on, let her live her life and we must try to do the same."
"If we'd have plucked up the courage sooner, things might be different."
"Or they might be exactly the same. Regardless, Voldemort is her father and always will be."
When they heard a 'pop' they looked towards the table, spying a note sitting on the surface. Sighing, Fred crossed to it and skimmed the message it held.
"Dumbledore wants debriefing."
"I don't trust him," George scowled furiously.
"Neither do I, but we must do what we can to protect her. Just as she's protected us."